Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Hallo, Sarah!”

  It was Shane. He had approached me from behind—his usual tactics—and was smiling at me in a friendly manner.

  “Oh, hallo, Shane,” I said without enthusiasm.

  “Come and dance with me?”

  “No, thank you. I’m a little tired.”

  “Well, if you won’t dance, come and have a sandwich.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m hungry,” he complained. “I haven’t had any dinner and I can’t go and eat by myself. Please be kind, Sarah.”

  It was difficult to refuse. I allowed myself to be led into the dining-room where I was given a seat and a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

  “This is very pleasant,” said Shane, sitting down opposite me at the little table. “Now we can talk comfortably. I couldn’t have bagged a chair if I had been alone.”

  “You could have got someone else,” I pointed out. “You could have mistaken someone else for your friend, Lorna.”

  Shane was unabashed. “Oh yes, quite easily. It just so happened that I wanted you.”

  I was silent.

  “Your niece is delightful,” continued Shane. “She’s so fresh and natural—quite unspoilt. We were having a most interesting little talk when ‘Uncle Charles’ appeared on the scene . . . like a policeman.”

  “She’s only fourteen,” I said hastily.

  “She’s going to be fifteen next week.”

  “I suppose she told you?”

  “How else could I have known?”

  “Shane,” I said earnestly. “Freddie is very young for her age. I wish you wouldn’t . . .”

  “Wouldn’t do what?” asked Shane, raising his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “What do you mean, Sarah?”

  It was impossible to explain what I meant; I realised that I had been cornered.

  “Don’t worry,” said Shane, smiling. “I’ll be as good as gold.”

  “You had better be,” I told him sternly.

  He put his elbows on the little table and leaned forward (I couldn’t help thinking that his eyes were “just like big brown velvety pansies”).

  “What have I done, Sarah?” he asked in plaintive tones. “You were so nice to me that day you came to the Brig . . . and now you’re being horrid. Why did you get in a flap because I danced with Freddie? She enjoyed it and so did I. We’re here to dance, aren’t we? I mean that’s the whole idea.”

  I said nothing.

  “Would you have been happier if I had asked someone to introduce me to Miss Hudson in a conventional manner?” inquired Shane with interest.

  The truthful answer was “no” but I saw that it was unreasonable. I said, “I don’t see any point in discussing the matter.”

  “No point at all. What shall we talk about?”

  “The weather and the condition of the crops,” I suggested.

  Shane sighed. “You’ve got a wonderful memory, Sarah. In some ways it’s rather unfortunate but it’s nice to know that our little chat made such a lasting impression upon you.”

  “You’re older!” I exclaimed.

  “Older?” he said. “So are you, I suppose, but it’s hard to believe. You’re as young as ever . . . but not so kind.”

  “I mean you’re no longer a boy so you ought to behave better.”

  “Oh dear! I thought I was behaving so nicely.”

  “Where is your ship?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “My ship? Oh, I’m not a sailor any more. I want to make money. Sailors don’t make money.”

  “No, I suppose not. What does your uncle say about it?”

  “He’s a little peeved,” admitted Shane. “I came up from London to have a chat with him about my plans, I hoped he would see the matter from my point of view.”

  “But he doesn’t?”

  “Alas, no: We had a long talk last night and I offered him a share in my little business but he was very obstinate about it. He’ll be sorry,” added Shane, frowning.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a good business, of course. I shall make a lot of money but I must have a little capital. I suppose you haven’t got a few hundreds to invest in a thoroughly sound——”

  “No, thank you, Shane.”

  “You don’t trust me, that’s the trouble. Oh well, it can’t be helped. You’ll regret it when you see me driving about in my Rolls. I must get hold of a little capital some other way. As a matter of fact I’ve got several irons in the fire and I shall have to scoot up to London tonight to see if they’re heating nicely.”

  “Tonight?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yes, I’m going now . . . but I shall be back next week for the picnic, of course. I wouldn’t disappoint Freddie for the world.” He smiled mischievously and added, “Au revoir, Sarah.”

  He was gone before I could reply.

  I sat there for a few minutes longer, thinking about Shane. I had told him he was older . . . but that wasn’t quite what I had meant. It had struck me suddenly that this man was very different from the boy I had met at the Brig. The boy had amused me, he had possessed a youthful charm, but he had developed into a man who was much too clever for me. The man knew what he wanted and intended to get it by hook or by crook—“ruthless” was the word that came into my mind! Shane wasn’t amusing now; he was alarming.

  The dance was nearly over. They were finishing with a galop; I could hear the music and the stamp of feet. I went back to the drawing-room and joined in the revels . . . but I still kept on thinking of Shane. I still kept on wondering why he had wanted to talk to me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The morning after the dance was very wet. It was raining with soft but inexorable persistency and the hills were shrouded in mist. I felt rather jaded but my fellow-revellers seemed none the worse of their late night. Charles put on his waterproof and went out to walk to Ryddelton, remarking that he needed fresh air. I sat down at the writing-table in the study to write to father; Freddie found a book and curled herself up in a big chair beside the fire.

  Now and then I stopped writing and looked at Freddie; her attitude would have been uncomfortable for most people but evidently it was comfortable for her and the book must have been interesting for she was lost to the world.

  I had never thought Freddie a pretty child, but last night she had looked adorable and, as Charles had said, she had been “the belle of the ball.” The simple rose-pink frock had suited her and the water-wave in her shiny brown hair had been a success. This morning she was wearing a moss-green pullover, her hair was still wavy and her lashes were like little brown fans. I decided that Lewis was right: there was something very appealing about the child. Even I, a mere woman, was aware of it!

  Perhaps she was disturbed by my scrutiny for suddenly she looked up with her sunshiny smile and asked if I had finished my letter.

  “Not quite. Do you want to go out, Freddie?”

  “It’s a bit too wet. Besides I want to talk to you . . . I haven’t got anyone else to talk to about things.”

  I put down my pen. “Well, go on, darling.”

  “First I want to tell you about the ‘bother and fuss.’ It was Mummie. You knew they were going to Wales, didn’t you? The Gallimores are having a big house-party and Mummie has been terribly busy getting clothes. That’s why she didn’t answer Miss Fairlie’s letter. I told Miss Fairlie all about it so she rang up Uncle Charles and it was arranged.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Then Mummie came to St Elizabeth’s the day before the end of term—it was last Wednesday. She wanted to take me with her, then and there.”

  “Why?” I asked, in alarm.

  “Because Lady Gallimore had rung up and asked Mummie to bring me—and Mummie said I must come home first and get some new clothes. I didn’t want to go to Enterton—I went once before for the week-end and I didn’t like it.”

  “Freddie, what do you mean? What happened?”

  “I just said ‘no’.”

/>   “You said ‘no’?”

  She nodded. “You see we were talking in the hall and people kept on passing. Mummie said I was to go and pack and she would tell Miss Fairlie that she was taking me away, but I just said ‘no.’ I just kept on saying, ‘No, thank you, Mummie. I don’t want to go to Enterton. I’m going to Craignethan.’ It was funny really,” said Freddie, smiling reminiscently. “She couldn’t make me come with her. I’m a good deal stronger than Mummie, but even if I hadn’t been stronger she couldn’t have taken me by force. It would have made a frightful scene . . . and she wouldn’t have liked that. I never realised before that I could resist Mummie—and she was surprised too. She’s used to getting what she wants without any bother.”

  “Oh, Freddie!”

  “It’s all right, Aunt Sarah. I wasn’t a bit rude. I just kept on saying, ‘No, thank you, Mummie’ . . . so at last she got back into the car and Brookes drove away.”

  “She must be very angry!”

  “Yes, I expect she is. At the time she was more surprised.”

  “What else happened?” I asked anxiously.

  “Nothing,” replied Freddie. “Nothing except that the next morning, when school broke up, Miss Fairlie took me to London in her car and saw me into the train. I told you that.”

  “You didn’t want to go to Enterton?”

  “No, I didn’t . . . and I did want—frightfully much—to come to Craignethan,” declared Freddie.

  “Oh, Freddie! I don’t know what to say!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Freddie in soothing tones. “There’s no need for you to worry about it, Aunt Sarah. I just told you because I thought you had better know what happened. Mummie knows it isn’t your fault so she can’t be angry with you.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that.

  “She can’t—really,” Freddie declared. “As a matter of fact I don’t think she’ll ever say anything to you about it. I don’t know why—exactly—but I’m pretty sure she won’t.”

  I considered the matter carefully and came to the same conclusion.

  “There’s another thing,” said Freddie, after a short silence. “Did you know that Grandmother Hudson died and left me all her money?”

  “Yes, I know. It’s nice for you, isn’t it?”

  “Not really,” replied Freddie with a sigh. “There have been frightful rows about it—Mummie thought it would be left to her. She’s terribly angry with me.”

  “But why is she angry with you? It isn’t your fault.”

  “Mummie doesn’t think like that. She’s angry with me because I’ve got it—and she hasn’t, that’s all. As a matter of fact I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t want it?” I asked in surprise.

  “I didn’t like Grandmother Hudson and she didn’t like me,” explained Freddie. “That’s why I don’t want her money. I couldn’t understand why she left it to me, but Daddy told me he had arranged it because he had enough money already and it would avoid some sort of tax. I wish he hadn’t arranged it because I want to earn my own living. I want to be an interpreter—like you were.”

  “All the same it will be very useful to have money of your own.”

  “But, Aunt Sarah, it isn’t really my own to do what I like with! Daddy explained it to me; the money is ‘in trust’ until I’m twenty-one and my ‘trustees’ are taking care of it. They’ll pay my school-bills and they’ll give me money to buy clothes and things. Daddy says I can ask my ‘trustees’ for money to buy anything I want and, if it’s ‘a reasonable expenditure’, they’ll give it to me. I thought you could tell me how to ask them. I want a car.”

  “But Freddie, you aren’t old enough!”

  “I know,” she admitted sadly. “I shall have to wait two whole years before I can get a licence to drive a car on the road, but all the same I want it now, this minute.”

  “What good would it be?”

  “I can drive it up and down the avenue at Brailsford. Brookes taught me to drive. Brookes says I could pass my test tomorrow. Oh dear, it’s dreadful to be young.”

  “You’ll be old quite soon enough,” I said with feeling.

  At that moment the telephone bell rang.

  “I expect it’s Beric,” said Freddie, picking up the receiver.

  It was Beric; he wanted Freddie to come to tea and go to the pictures with him afterwards. There was a very good film at the Odeon in Dumfries.

  Beric had a standing invitation to come to Craignethan whenever he could, so he came quite often in the afternoon and sometimes stayed to dinner. He was present one evening when we were discussing Freddie’s birthday picnic. (The picnic had grown since it had first been mooted, for Charles, in an expansive moment, had said, “It’s your picnic, Freddie. Go ahead and ask anyone you like,”—and Freddie had gone ahead joyously.)

  On this particular evening I took pencil and paper and endeavoured to make a list; I wanted to know how many I should have to cater for.

  “Oh, I asked quite a lot of people,” said Freddie happily. “You said I could, didn’t you, Uncle Charles?”

  “How will they all get to Cairnbeck?” asked Charles.

  “Most of them have got cars or motor-bikes—or something,” said Beric.

  “What about food?” I asked. “How many——”

  “Oh, lots of food,” interrupted Freddie. “You see I just told them the picnic was at Cairnbeck and they all said they would come. I didn’t ask any older people—except Shane, of course.”

  “I thought young Vidal had gone to London,” said Charles.

  “Yes, but he’s coming back in time for the picnic.”

  “What did you want to ask him for?” muttered Beric.

  “Because I like him,” Freddie retorted.

  It would have been more satisfactory, from my point of view, if the arrangements had been properly organised. I should have liked to know exactly how many young people had been invited and how they were going to get to Cairnbeck, but I was old-fashioned (“a square,” in modern jargon) and when I tried to explain my feelings I was given to understand, quite kindly, that things were different nowadays.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Reede,” said Beric. “Everybody will make it, somehow or other. Just take masses of food.”

  “Celia’s cousins are coming,” said Freddie. “They’re staying at Dunnian and David is eighteen so he’s got a car of his own. He’ll bring Peter and Celia and Mary and the Raeworths.”

  “David’s bus is a two-seater,” murmured Beric.

  “Oh!” said Freddie. “Oh well, perhaps he’ll just bring Peter and Celia and Mary. The Raeworths will find someone else to bring them. Andrew said quite definitely that he and Helen would come.”

  “They’ll find someone else,” said Beric, nodding. “The Loudons will come on Harry’s motor-bike, of course. Johnny Coates has a motor-bike; he offered to bring me on the pillion but I said I was coming with you. Is that all right, Mr Reede?”

  “Yes, we shall be glad to have you, Beric.”

  “What shall we do if it isn’t a fine day?” I asked apprehensively.

  “It will be a beautiful day. I’ve been praying hard for weeks,” declared Freddie.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Freddie’s prayers were answered, which was fortunate in more ways than one. It was a beautiful day with veiled sunshine and a soft blue mist on the distant hills. Freddie received a number of very nice presents, and sheaves of birthday cards from school friends; she was very happy and excited.

  We left home immediately after lunch (it was important that we should arrive at the rendezvous before our guests) and having parked the car in a clearing in the woods we walked down to the shore. Beric was with us, of course, and was useful in helping to carry the huge baskets of provisions, two large black kettles, milk and rugs and plates and glass-fibre cups and saucers. I had decided to cater for twenty; I didn’t see how there could be more.

  We chose a sheltered spot for the encampment and Charles proceeded to build a fireplace w
ith large stones; I sat on a grassy bank and watched him; the two young ones had vanished.

  “It’s important to build it on scientific principles,” said Charles.

  “Yes, of course. It looks marvellous. Do you think anybody will come?”

  “I don’t know—but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter! What about the food?”

  “Never mind the food. It would be much more pleasant to have tea quietly by ourselves. It’s lovely here, so peaceful.”

  It was lovely. There was a ragged hawthorn hedge on the top of the bank where I was sitting; it was dwarfed and stunted by the winter storms but entwined in its branches were clusters of honeysuckle . . . and the soft wind which wandered aimlessly about the shore was laden with the fragrance of the flowers. The tide was half-way out, so there was a stretch of brown sand, wet and shining; beyond that, the small waves were splashing gently. The only living things in sight were sea-gulls walking sedately at the sea’s edge.

  Having completed his fireplace, Charles sat down beside me on the bank.

  “It’s seven years since we were here,” he said. “Do you remember, Sarah? Beric and Freddie were children. A thick mist came up from the sea and we had to go home.”

  “Yes, I remember. It doesn’t seem like seven years, but they aren’t children any more. Oh, there they are!” I added.

  Freddie bounded out from behind the rocks; she was clad in a blue swimming suit and a blue bath-towelling cloak; she ran down towards the sea, leaping and prancing like a mænad. Beric followed; he was wearing black bathing trunks. They took hands and swung each other round and round madly.

  “Did you say ‘they aren’t children any more’?” inquired Charles, chuckling. He added, “Well, if none of the guests arrive they’ll be quite happy together.”

  He had scarcely spoken when a horde of young creatures burst out of the bushes on the other side of the bay and rushed down the shore, laughing, shouting, pushing each other, dodging in and out, pelting each other with bunches of seaweed. They joined up with Beric and Freddie, forming a ring and whirling like a cartwheel.